


Shower

by CatLovePower



Category: Lethal Weapon (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-OT3, Tumblr Prompt, cliché-packed thing, not slash but read it as you like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 15:02:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8537611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatLovePower/pseuds/CatLovePower
Summary: 5 times Riggs used the Murtaughs’ shower and the 1 time he wasn’t alone.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lynne_monstr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynne_monstr/gifts).



1.

The first time it happened, Riggs had been chasing a suspect on foot on Hollywood boulevard and fell in the sewers. Murtaugh had been so scared to see him disappear mid-course in an open manhole, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

But Riggs had fallen like a cat and didn’t break his neck. Turbid water broke his fall; the splash had been quite something. But the worst was the smell. It permeated his clothes, his hair, even his skin.

“You are not putting your smelly ass in my car!” Murtaugh stressed, after he made sure Riggs was okay.

But Riggs was charming and resourceful, and he ended up draped in plastic bags, sulking in the passenger seat while a pissed off Murtaugh drove home, their suspect long gone now.

“You are not using my shower,” Murtaugh repeated the whole way.

But Trish was home, and she ordered him to strip, putting his clothes in the washer and his naked ass in the shower. Murtaugh really didn’t need to see that.

 

2.

Once, he sneaked in while everyone was away, and took a long, hot shower in a big, empty house that wasn’t his. It had been raining for two days, on and off, and he was just so cold all the time. Living on the beach was nice, but the public showers didn’t come with hot water. Sometimes he missed that; the comfort of a house with water, heater and a real kitchen. He raided the fridge and left before any of the Murtaughs came home.

 

3.

The first time he stayed over, it was after Trish’s birthday. Most of the other guests had left, the kids were asleep, and Riggs was still in the living room, sprawled in an armchair like he owned it. Partly because he was a bit drunk and partly because he knew it was Roger’s chair and he wanted to piss him off.

When he stood up to leave, the room moved around him more than he expected. He must have swayed, because Trish said, “Sat down before you fall over. You are not driving.”

So he sat down with a smug smile, feeling at ease for once. Trish was a nice person, and she knew how to make you feel right at home. Roger needed to work on that, because he kept offering him coffee in an attempt to sober him up and get him out of his house.

In the end, Trish had the last word, probably as always. Roger begrudgingly prepared the guest room while Trish ushered him in the shower with a clean towel and one of Roger’s pajamas. He used all the hot water and slept like a baby.

 

4.

Granted, he could have scrubbed at the beach. He also could have gone to the hospital; his head needed stitches, but he assured everyone butterfly stitches would be enough. The concrete was dry now, caking his naked feet, his pants and his legs. It was uncomfortably tight and cold.

This time, Roger didn’t even fuss about his car. He was unusually quiet too, silently gripping the wheel, throwing sideway glances at his partner. It was late when they pulled in front of the house, but the light was on in the living room. Roger had sent updates to his wife throughout the night, and her last answer was unquestionable. “Bring him home.”

Riggs had spent some time unconscious, then tied up to a chair, his feet in drying concrete as his captors threatened to dump his ass in the water. Fortunately, his partner and SWAT had raided the warehouse before it came to that. On the way to the Murtaughs, he found out he couldn’t stop shivering, cold to the bone.

Trish opened the door before Roger had stopped the car. She hovered while he helped Riggs get out of the car, stiff and silent. Maneuvering up the stairs proved tricky, but Riggs wasn’t that heavy. Roger gave him a piggyback ride to the bathroom while complaining about his back the whole time. The fact that Riggs didn’t protest was scary in itself.

In the end they had to put him in the shower, clothes and all, because everything was too stiff to come off. Riggs sat there, teeth chattering, his hair flat and dull under the hot steam. After a while he stepped out, and they helped peel off his clothes like you would with an onion. Despite having spent half a day manhandled by drug dealers, he didn’t mind the touch.

 

5.

What he liked best in the Murtaughs’ bathroom were all the bottles everywhere. He liked to open them and get a sniff, trying to guess which family member used which one. Every time there was a new bottle above the sink or in the shower, it felt like Christmas, in a weird stalkerish kind of way.

Once, he opened a new bottle of conditioner, and he felt like crying. It smelt like peaches, like August at the beach, like holidays and hot summer nights. It smelt like Miranda’s hair. He may have wept a little, but he was in the shower anyway, no one could have told.

 

+1.

“It was just a cold.” Roger repeated. He threw his hands up for good measure, and paced some more. They’d need to change the floorboards if he continued like that.

“He should be in a hospital,” Trish said, in that tight voice she used when she was upset and scared in equal measures.

“He doesn’t do hospitals,” Roger reminded her. They both knew why, and they both felt sad for him.

Riggs trashed in the bed, looking feverish and out of it. Trish sat on the covers, looking very lost. If he had been one of her kid, she would have known what to do. But Riggs wasn’t hers; he was like a stray that kept coming back to the house, wild and free. Sick as a dog was the right turn of phrase.

“We should call Dr. Rozot,” Trish said, whipping out her phone.

“Riggs is not a kid,” Murtaugh objected. It was their little one’s pediatrician.

“He lives two blocks away,” Trish said. “He’d know what to do.”

She stepped out to call him, despite the late hour, leaving her husband with his unresponsive partner. He was fine that morning. Well, as fine as a man living like a hermit could be; he didn’t eat enough, he didn’t have hot water or even a working radiator, in that damn trailer of his. Roger felt angry, but he didn’t know at what exactly. Life, fate, call it whatever you wanted.

“He said to take his temperature.” Trish came back in the room, digital thermometer in hand. “Put him in the shower if it went over 102.”

She sat on the bed and put the thermometer in Riggs’ ear. He groaned and mumbled; probably objecting that he was fine. Or maybe he started hallucinating because his fever was slowly baking his brain.

The thermometer biped and Trish looked scared. Roger sighed and took off his shirt. Shower it was.

Riggs’ fever was well over 102, and when they tried to get him to the bathroom, he started fighting them. He was uncoordinated and weak, but even in that state, he was dangerous. He clipped Roger on the chin, flailing, trying to escape. Roger trapped his arms along his body with a bear hug and Trish turned on the shower, cold water only. Riggs bucked and trashed, then he sagged against Roger’s chest and stopped fighting altogether.

“Is he…?” Roger asked, trying to stay upright, but then deciding to sit in the cold puddle at the bottom of the shower stall, Riggs between his legs.

Trish brushed the damp hair out of his eyes and said, “He’s awake.” Then to Riggs, with that sweet voice she used with her baby, “It’s okay, Martin. You just need to cool off.”

“I hate you both,” he mumbled, sounding like his old self for a second.

“Sure you do,” Murtaugh laughed. His large chest was pressed against Riggs back, so when his teeth started chattering, he could feel it as if it was his own.

“Thought you didn’t like… when I used your sh-shower,” Riggs said.

Roger laughed again, trying not to think about deadly fevers, stupid partners and the amount of naked manhandling that would follow their impromptu shower.


End file.
